oween,thekidnapping,drowning,prayers,theVirginMary,andmysisters,father,mother.Inearlyhadsolvedtheriddleofmyidentity.Yetasquicklyasittakestosay"Pardonme,"theyvanished,andwiththem,myrealstory.Itseemedasiftheeyesofthestatueflickeredichlight.IlookedupontheenigmaticfaceoftheVirginMary,idealizedbyananonymoussculptor,theobjectofuntoldadoratioion,imagination,supplication.AsIstuffedmypocketswithdles,Ifeltapangofguilt.

    Behihegreatwoodendoorsattheterentrancegroanedopenasapeorapriestentered.Wezippedoutthroughthesidedoorandzigzaggedamongthegravestones.Despitethefactthatbodieslayburiedthere,thecemeterywasnothalfasfrighteningasthechurch.Ipausedatagravestone,ranmyfingersovertheiters,andwastemptedtolightamatchtoreadtheheothersleaptovertheironfence,soIscurriedtocatchup,chasingthemacrosstown,untilwewereallsafelybehelibrary.Everyclosecallthrilledus,aonourblasgigglinglikechildreenoughdlestomakeoursanctuaryshine.Smaolachcrawledofftoadarkerandcurleduplikeafox,hisnoseburiedunderacloakingarm.SpedIsoughtoutthebrightness,andwithourlatestbooks,wesatsidebyside,thescrapepagesmarkingtime.

    Eversinceshehadintroducedmetothissecretplace,Ilovedgoingtothelibrary.Initially,Iwentforthebooksfirstenteredinmychildhood.Thoseoldstories—GrimmsFairyTalesandMoose,picturebookslikeMikeMulligan,MakeWayforDugs,andHomerPrice—promisedanothercluetomyfadiy.Ratherthanhelpmerecapturethepast,thestoriesonlyalienatedmefurtherfromit.BylookingatthepicturesandreadingAloudthetext,Ihadhopedtohearmymothersvoiceagain,